


it's been a second since i lived

by ghoultown



Category: Buzzfeed Unsolved (Web Series)
Genre: ???kind of???, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Alternative Universe - Death Dates, Angst, Angsty Garbage, Dialogue Heavy, I don't know, Internalized Homophobia, Kinda Futuristic?, Lowkey Black Mirror, M/M, Ryan is a nervous wreck, Shane is an Asshole, Soulmates, ryan's just very sheltered in this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-27
Updated: 2019-01-13
Packaged: 2019-07-03 00:45:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 16,369
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15807876
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ghoultown/pseuds/ghoultown
Summary: ryan's parents were nervous, and they decided to protect their son the best way they could: let him know when he'd end.ryan's lived terrified of death for years due to a tattoo on his wrist that tells him when he's going to die. and then he gets a call.or, ryan is a nervous breakdown on two legs and shane wants to love him





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> sorry this is all over the place, just stay with me for awhile. i wanna try something.

Ryan strolled casually through the grocery store, his hands tapping mindlessly against the handlebar to some song that was catchy but not so relevant to know the name of. His shoes made imperceptible clicks as he walked, concealed by the hardly rhythmic squeaking of the too-small wheels of the shopping basket. 

He hummed and circled the produce stand, thinking about what he wanted and what he needed. 

 _Bananas? No, apples. No... I think I need bananas. So that would be it._  

Ryan reached over the, honestly, strange-shaped baskets and wrapped his fingers around a bunch of the yellow fruit when he caught a glance of his wrist. 

 _Due September 17th, 2056._  

He cringed and carefully placed it back where it was, exactly, and stood still, eyes glued to his tanned skin as the inked numbers and letters slowly faded and morphed into a new fate; his original one, the one he'd gotten from birth. 

 _Due November 29th, 2091._  

He grunted, an amused sound, and continued quickly away from the produce section and to the checkout. 

That was his way of keeping things under control, with the due date. Every time his due date changed, he had to retrace his steps and make sure that it returned to what it was. Every, single, time. 

To allow your due date to change to a date closer or farther from 'today', whenever that was at the time, would be odd for him. You were born with one day to die, and it was printed on your wrist. Why would you flirt with the future, when the future was already made up for you? 

Every new kiss, every accidental trip, every time you jumped into an elevator with someone... your due date could change. You would never know. 

People seemed so careless about it. But not for Ryan. Humble, careful, loveless Ryan. 

His home reflected such. 

A small, cramped, one-bedroom apartment with one hallway was Ryan's home. Or, as he'd call it, a shell. A shell of a home. Just big enough for one, tiny person (though he wasn’t tiny!) who seldom went outside, save for necessity. 

In second grade, he’d accidentally drawn on his wall with crayon and his date hadn’t found it very funny. He’d stayed on “Due today” for hours, and the fear had never worn off.  

Ryan was amongst the 'new generation', creating their conspiracies on government involvement and surveillance, and just throwing away what they were born with... just to get what they wanted. Kissing whoever they wanted, traveling across the country. Getting their dates removed. It was horrific. 

Ryan grimaced at the thought, closing the car door and turned the key in the ignition. A quick glance at his wrist, and he was off. 

He frowned, biting the inside of his cheek as he saw a few teenagers walking down the road, laughing loudly and kicking stones on the pavement as they went through life as their crash course. 

 _They don't have the right,_ his inner voice tutted,  _Who_ _do they think they are?_  

He pawed at his ear, eyes widening as his date brushed back past his line of vision. 

 _Due today._  

Ryan sat up straight and snapped both hands to the wheel, his breathing heavy. His eyes flickered from one side of the road to the other, alert and careful. 

He hesitantly turned his left wrist again, "Oh, thank God." 

 _Due November 29, 2091._  

He smiled, exhausted, and pulled into his parking space at the apartment complex, unbuckling and hurrying out of the car to get his groceries and running up the stairs to his shell. 

The due date craze had been something that, over time, became some kind of an irrational fear for him. An obsession; a conscious effort to make sure that his due date remained his original one. 

A constant need to know that his death wouldn't be further or closer than it needed to be. 

"No, no... no thanks, mister," he muttered under his breath, hurriedly moving the milk to the other side of the refrigerator, sighing in relief as the number changed again. 

As his heartbeat steadied to normal, he returned to the counter to unpack further. 

His hands shook ever so slightly, still distressed from the close-calls of that day. It was rare that he had a good day where he did everything correctly, but... even so, this was ridiculous. 

Ryan took a deep breath and slowly walked to his slightly-worn sofa, falling down with a sigh. 

This whole thing had begun to bear down on him. 

When he was a child, about... what, Kindergarten age, he didn't think much about it. The due date was just a part of him, like everyone else, and it was totally okay if it changed. But the more he aged, the more he thought, the more he read.... it didn't seem so easy anymore. 

With age came common sense, and with common sense came stress and conscious terror and... whatever else made Ryan so terrified. 

Social anxiety mixed with overwhelming fear throughout the every day made life torture. 

Ryan's breath caught in his throat as he heard his phone buzz in his pocket. 

"Ugh, Mom," he whispered, shaking his head, "It's not the time." 

He glanced down to his wrist as he reached for the phone, waiting for the digits to change to 'today' or 'in three seconds' or some idiocy like that, but it stayed the same. 

Without even checking the caller ID, he held the phone up to his face, "What?" 

 _"Um... hello?"_  

Ryan's eyes narrowed at the unfamiliar voice. It definitely wasn't his mother's, and he was glad he hadn't whined as he always did when she called, and it also couldn't have been Sara from the market- that was what she went by, actually. 'Sara from the market'. From-the-market was her last name, as far as Ryan was concerned. 

She was the closest girl he saw as even slightly fanciful and worth his time, as he could always slip away without the right change just because she thought he was 'cute'. 

However, the baritone voice on the line was definitely not the squeaky one of Sara from the market. It had some kind of flair to it that Ryan couldn't quite place. Deep but familiar. 

His mind raced, trying to remember some kind of cousin or sibling he hadn't seen, or... oddly young-sounding uncle from the Netherlands. None came to mind. 

"Who's this?" Ryan leaned on the counter, his hand gripping the edge with his left wrist turned upward, just in case. 

 _"Uh... this is_ _Shane_ _? From the club last weekend?"_  

Ryan's nose scrunched up slightly, confused as to why he found himself in a club and just as well... talking to a man, "Sorry?" 

 _"Yeah, I don't exactly expect you to remember me, but... well, I found you quite nice."_  

The traitor blush that graced his cheeks cost another hasteful glance to his wrist, slightly upset that he hadn't a reason to hang up right then, "Well, thank you... Shane, was it?" 

 _"That's me."_  

"So... I don't figure you're calling just to make that known, then?" Ryan shifted on his feet, intent gaze burning a hole in his wrist, "Because, believe it or not, I... I'm not for that team." 

 _"Yeah, I know. You told me that a lot,"_ the man on the line laughed, a deep, awkward one as if he was disappointed. 

Ryan stood still, silent, as he waited for the man to hang up, or say something along the lines of 'so, we got married in Vegas' or something that would totally throw him off and possibly cause him to throw one of the shatter-proof vases that he had to buy after a few too many drinks that one evening after he was laid off. 

However, he didn't have to worry about that. 

 _"I was wondering if you'd like to grab a cup of coffee some place."_  

He stalled, looking up to his microwave that was at eye-level to check the clock just in case he was dreaming, "What?" 

 _"I know you're not interested and whatever, but you seem nice. You can't really find people like that anymore. Or, I can’t. Especially not in the clubs. I'm not out to get you or something if that's what has you rattled."_  

Ryan nodded but quickly realized he wasn't talking to 'Shane' face to face, "Oh, um... well, that's... nice of you? I'm..." 

 _"You don't have to, of course. I wouldn't want to taint your heterosexuality."_  

Ryan couldn't help but laugh at that. Regardless of his preference, the sound of Shane's upset voice made him laugh. Even if he didn't know what he looked like, it was nice to laugh for once. 

"No, no," Ryan looked at his wrist again, "It's totally fine." 

 _"Are you game, Ry?"_  

He cringed at the name, unwieldy from the fact that he was basically thrust into a, not only first name,  _nickname_ basis with this mysterious man, "I don't know... I'm not really... interested in..." 

 _"Oh, that's fair. I'll leave you be, then."_  

Ryan nodded to himself, the distorting of the ink on his wrist luring a groan from his lips, "Not nooooow." 

 _"Sorry?"_  

"Uh, wait, I..." Ryan cradled his head in his left hand, watching as the numbers changed halfway just to tease him, "I'll go. With you. To get coffee?" 

 _"Wait, really?"_  

He hummed quietly, biting on the back of his hand as he waited for his response. 

 _"That's... really cool of you, wow. How about_ _Brookard's_ , _down the street from the club?"_  

"Sure, sounds.... peachy," Ryan mumbled, "Does Mo- Tuesday at ten work for you?" 

 _"If that's savvy."_  

 _'Savvy?'_  Ryan asked himself,  _'What am I getting myself into?'_  

"Well, I'll... I'll see you then, Shane," he said quietly, letting the name escape his mouth in a stutter, unwilling to believe what he'd just accepted. 

 _"I'll see you then!"_  

Ryan nearly dropped his phone as he heard the dial tone. 

"He... he hung up on me!" he cried to his empty apartment, turning around and opening his fridge, reaching half-heartedly for the half-empty bottle of alcohol in the back, stomping his foot petulantly as his due date changed. 

 _Due March 17th, 2084._  

"Let me indulge, for God's sakes!" he pouted and grabbed a juice box, closing the door with his hip and heading toward the sofa, quickly rerouting to the bedroom with a whine as he caught his wrist again.


	2. Chapter 2

Ryan, after several sleepless hours of breathing into paper bags and psyching himself out, got out of bed and dragged himself by the collar into his daily routine. 

As a very simple, sheltered man with only five places to go on a daily, he had a very organized way to get ready for the predictable things he did. His organization, as a visual person himself, was in the form of a magnetic whiteboard hung on his bathroom mirror. His mother had bought it for him all the way back in middle school, for his locker. He had stuffed it behind a dresser, as to forget it, and had found it in the attic years later for the move to college. It just seemed right, as he remembered. It was a small thing, six-by-five inches, but his meek writing fit it perfectly. Just a list of five things that he needed to remember every day. 

 _One: Hygiene._  

Number one on the list was written with pretty, cursive, careful letters, as it was the most important. 

 _Two: People._  

Number two was his actual handwriting, a chicken scratch carved out of years of anxiety and lack of time to make letters pretty because his fast-moving thoughts never gave him the chance. To be truthful, Ryan hated people, making it just as important. 

 _Three: Wrist._  

Number three was self-explanatory. 

 _Four: Groceries._  

For Ryan's small body, his stomach could take a lot. Shopping was an everyday thing. 

 _Five: Money._  

Number five included going and doing his job for a few minutes before swinging by the bank for money that mysteriously appeared there. His job wasn't too hard. Sitting behind a desk and hitting a few keys wasn't too hard. Getting paid every day was hardly bad. 

Ryan sighed and grabbed a marker upon looking over the list. He added another point. 

 _Six:_ _Shane._

He walked from the bathroom with his hairbrush hanging from his tangled hair, going to his medium-sized closet and looking through everything with distasteful eyes. 

On one end, he wanted to look good for this stranger. Wouldn't everyone want to look their best for a coffee? That was just main etiquette, right? 

Ryan plucked a pair of his best jeans out before pausing. 

On the other end, he wanted nothing to do with that guy. Why did he care? Why couldn't he just wear sweatpants and the shirt that Sara from the market bought him from the Brewery and walk in half-drunk with a pair of underwear on his head? He glanced down at his wrist and frowned as it was the same date, the jeans still in his hand. 

"But... no," whined Ryan as he tried to place them back, the due date slowly cranking down, day by day. 

 _Due October 79th, 2091._  

He gave up and threw them over his shoulder, dangling over his arm as he grabbed a plain white t-shirt. 

 _Due November 29th, 2091._  

His wrist had nothing to say about that. 

Ryan quickly got dressed, knowing that in less than two hours, he'd be in a coffee shop with a man. How funny. He didn't expect his first date to go that way. 

Of course, this wasn't a date. This was... an acquaintanceship in the making! That's all it was! 

He pulled on his pristine clothes, as a wrinkle was never tolerated in his wardrobe, and went to check everything in the mirror. 

His hair was messy but fixed that way on purpose because a lady from the grocery store whom he didn't know complimented him on it, and he wanted to keep it that way forever. 

Outfit; plain, but good enough to be meeting someone for the "first" time. 

Face... well, everyone had their flaws. 

Ryan shuffled over to the kitchen and, with his peripheral set on his exposed wrist, picked out a decent breakfast. A small one, of course, because he anticipated an offer for food that he probably couldn't turn down. 

His phone began to ring, and he made sure to check the caller ID before answering. 

"Hello?" 

 _"Hey,_ _Ryan_. _"_  

"Shane," Ryan nodded, his voice lowering slightly in an attempt to seem cool and not still completely surprised at the fact he was actually going to this thing. 

 _"Just wondering if we're still on for ten,"_ said Shane. 

"Um... well, yeah." 

 _"I'm glad. It'll be nice to see you."_  

Ryan stilled as he tried to formulate an answer. An answer that didn't come. 

 _"Did I kill you?"_ the soft voice asked. 

"Oh, no, um..." Ryan silently screamed at his wrist, making dramatic movements as if he could persuade it otherwise, "I'm very... very alive." 

 _"That's good..."_  Shane sounded weary,  _"I'll see you in thirty,_ _Ryan_ _."_  

Ryan's eyes widened as the whining of his phone signified Shane's leaving of the line. 

"Errrrgh!" he growled at his wrist and kicked the space of wall next to the counter, immediately screaming in pain, "Oh, I'm _dumb!"_

His wrist seemed to be amused, going blank for a moment before showing his due date again. 

"Oh, shut up," he muttered, moving to grab his keys and wallet from his strategically-placed table that housed all of the possible items for his day. 

And he began to walk to his car. 

His apartment complex was very simple; a stairway zig-zagging up the side of his building next to an alley that held dumpsters and the occasional homeless person. Ryan's trek to his house usually consisted of parking in the small parking lot and inching over to the alley with his hands in his pockets as to not gain an incurable illness. The stairs up to his level were made of a material that could be compared to aluminum foil. It was always unsteady, and Ryan always felt the urge to hold onto the railing, but would quickly go without because of the odd stickiness that seemed to reside there. Each level he passed gave him a very in-depth view into someone's window and balcony on each floor. Although he tried not to snoop, he had found himself peeking in once or twice to a point where he had memorized some. 

On the ground level, there was Mrs. Mayhew. He only knew her name from the embroidered pillows that sat color-coded on her outside furniture. Mrs. Mayhew, or Elizabeth as he didn't call her, was very self-obsessed. Headshots of her own from the 1980s lined the parts of her living room that Ryan could see, ones with drawn-on moles that seemed to switch sides and ones with nude lipstick and bright-white teeth. Her profile hadn't changed much since the headshots, but most of that was thanks to plastic surgery. Ryan liked to joke to himself about Mrs. Barbie on ground level. 

A floor up is Mr. James. Ryan didn't know much about Mr. James, but he'd accidentally bumped into him on the way up as the man went down. Mr. James was fairly attractive, as Ryan would never admit, and he seemed to be in his mid-30s. A brush of brown hair lounged on his upper lip, just above the shy smile on his mouth that always seemed to be there, and his eyes seemed old for his days. Ryan always planned to ask his story, but never got around to it. 

Floor three was occupied solely by Furman, a seventy-year-old man with just a few grey hairs that draped over his freckled head. He always wore khaki shorts with both suspenders and a belt, but Ryan had noticed that it was a female's belt. He wondered what the sentimental value of it was. 

Floor four consisted of Ms. Rey and her five kids. Ryan could always hear her yelling at "Harold" and telling him to stop going out to bars, and never dared to peek into their window for fear that he'd be yelled at too. Ms. Rey seemed very mean. 

Floor five was the floor Ryan called 'home'. He was very lonely on the fifth floor but always thought to invite people over and never got around to it. 

Above Ryan was Mister Gregory, the player. Ryan once had to move his bed to another room as to escape the loud creaking of the bed above him. Every Friday night, he made sure to watch a lot of rock videos with the volume turned up. 

Ryan shoved his hands into his pocket and scurried out of the alleyway, making a beeline for his small, sky blue Beetle without looking back. 

His phone buzzed as he slid into the driver's seat, and he pulled the device out and squinted at the screen. 

 _Shane_ _: You wouldn't mind picking me up, would you?_  

Ryan couldn't stop the groan that fell from his lips, checking his wrist before typing in a reply. 

 _To_ _Shane_ _: What's your address?_  

 _Shane_ _: Oh, I'm out. Could you pick me up at the market near_ _downtown?_  

 _To_   _Shane_ _: The Market or the market?_  

 _Shane_ : _Does it matter?_  

Ryan covered his mouth with his hand at the strange sound that fell from his lips. He labeled it as a giggle, something he hadn't done since junior high, and replied. 

 _To_ _Shane_ _: I suppose you're right. I'll be there in a few._  

 _Shane_ _: Thank you. :)_    
 

The dark-eyed man stared at the smiley face for a few moments, glancing back to his wrist and pleading for another full minute before turning the key in the ignition and pulling out of his space. 


	3. Chapter 3

Ryan pulled in front of the doors, leaving his car idle as he already knew his wait wouldn't be long. 

He found himself looking out the window across from him as he pulled his knees to his chest and stared at the awkward building beside him. 

 _The Market_  was a small building mushed up between two others- a tailor and a doughnut shop. Its color scheme was cutesy, almost as if a toddler had randomly pointed to a sheet of pastel paint swatches three times. A blinding blue-to-pink-to-yellow ratio that hurt his eyes every time he passed. 

If he squinted hard, it looked like it was made of cotton candy. 

It was pretty adorable, he'd admit, and the prices were gentle on his wallet. 

The people were nice, not anything close to Sara from the market, but then again, no one was close to her. Ryan's personal favorite register in _The Market_  was number 15, as an elderly lady named Eloise was always found there, and she always gave him a free cookie. He loved the cookies, there. Almost as much as he loved Eloise's stories about her husband and children- stories that usually ended in the old woman pulling a photo album from her purse and sharing them with Ryan. He never complained. 

Regardless, he went to the shop every day and basically bought things religiously. Anywhere else wasn't efficient, and furthermore, he just liked the absence of mainstream people looking for "that green stuff I saw on television". It was purely to the business of him, Eloise, a few other people and... apparently, Shane. 

Ryan's eyes flickered to his wrist for a few moments, mentally willing the inked numbers to manipulate themselves to  _his_  will, and to _his_  want, but his original date smirked at him from the tan skin. 

His phone buzzed, sending him into the air with shock. Then another buzz. And another. 

 _Shane_ : _That you in the Beetle?_  

 _Shane_ : _Oh, I see you._  

 _Shane_ _: Didn't mean to frighten you._  

Ryan's heart rate increased substantially, his frightened eyes moving from one person to the other in a completely blind search from the accented man he'd been so hesitant to meet. 

 _Could it be that old man over there? Of course not,_ _Shane_ _'s voice was too young. Certainly not that woman, although she does seem masculine._  

His mind raced, his palms instinctually beginning to sweat. It was funny how anxious he was, considered the social part he dreaded hadn't even started yet. 

On habit, he counted backwards from ten and tried to imagine what he was doing hours prior, or preferably before he was panicked. 

 _Before I’m panicked?_  He thought,  _impossible._  

Ryan jumped, yet again, as there was a gentle rap on the passenger-side window. He turned his head, still slightly curled up in the seat, as he saw the midsection of what seemed to be a quite fit man. Wearing... were those khakis? 

"Uh... uh...." Ryan mumbled to himself nervously, pressing the 'unlock' button on the car door. 

He slowly let his feet touch the floor as he watched the tall-  _wow, he's tall_ \- man slide into the seat next to him. 

"Woah..." Ryan's voice came out shaky as he stared unashamedly at Shane, "You look... woah. Not what I expected. Um..." 

"Thank you," said Shane, sending a meek smile in his direction before looking down to buckle his seat belt, "I really didn't mean to scare you. I just didn't recognize you. Sobriety looks good on you." 

"Oh, um... thanks, I don't drink often," Ryan stuttered, suddenly aware of the situation as pulled the lever on the console and pulling away. 

They sat in silence for awhile, but Ryan could feel the red hot gaze from the brown-eyed man beside him. 

"What do you do, Ryan?" asked Shane, a tint of interest in his voice. 

"Um..." 

"Where do you work?" 

"Um... Work." 

Shane's eyebrow raised in Ryan's periphery, "Just "Work", huh?" 

"Yes," replied Ryan, "I go to Work." 

"Ah." 

More silence as their heads bobbed with each speed bump they leisurely rolled over. 

"What's your date?" Ryan asked in a fit of confidence. 

"My date?" 

"Yes, your date. Are you a 2091 date?" 

Shane shook his head, "I don't have a date." 

"You're kidding." 

"I'm not, see?" he rolled up his sleeve and showed his bare, left wrist, "My family didn't believe in that." 

"Wow," came the exhaled response, a shudder overtaking his body as he whispered, "That must be so unorganized." 

He slowly turned onto the road that housed the coffee shop and let out a sound of praise as he saw a perfect parking space right in front of it. Ryan glanced down at his wrist and frowned. 

"Where are we going?" Shane's voice was concerned as he turned in his seat and watched the coffee shop as it distanced, "There was a perfectly good spot over there." 

"Can't," muttered Ryan, "We'll have to park somewhere else." 

The man in the passenger seat tried to relax into his chair, but couldn't stop the words escaping, "And why can't we?" 

"It's complicated." 

"I'm not going anywhere," he replied with a smile, "I'm genuinely interested." 

Ryan slowly pulled into the small gravel lot a few blocks down, saying nothing as he unbuckled and moved to get out of the car. 

"Did I say something wrong?" asked Shane, who trailed just slightly behind the fast-moving Ryan. He backed away as Ryan stopped, and felt somewhat confused as his arm was linked with another. 

"I brushed past you and our arms touched and my due date stayed the same," mumbled the dark-eyed man, "I'll explain when I get energy in me." 

"I must say," Shane threw a half smile to a passing pedestrian, "You are quite the unorthodox little thing." 

Ryan's heart jumped into his throat as he choked out, "I am  _not_  little!" 

"Okay." 

"I'm not!" he stomped his foot into the ground as they continued to walk, "I pay bills! I go to Work! I've bought _my own fish_ before! By myself!" 

"Doing adult things doesn't make you any less small, Ryan," said the taller blonde, tugging him into the coffee shop, "Speaking of adult things, I'll be paying. What do you want?" 

"I'll have an orange juice," he replied petulantly, unlinking his arm from Shane's and, after a quick check of his wrist, stormed off to a booth in the far back.   

"You can't get that much energy from orange juice," Shane called after him, but Ryan ignored him. 


	4. Chapter 4

Ryan stared out the window, his attention less on the cars outside and more on Shane as he stirred his drink with the small, black straw. The gentle murmurs of people around them poked and prodded at Ryan's curiosity. 

One woman in the booth behind them was talking to herself, mumbling something about Work. She couldn't have been on her phone, Ryan figured, because the responses to whomever would be on the (nonexistent) line weren't being spoken. No hums to press someone on, no "I'm listening's" as she inevitably dug through her bag to find the important presentation she was missing or a flash drive she'd been looking for that would hopefully turn up in that moment. Of course, Ryan talked to himself (and his wrist) on a daily, so he didn't think much of it. 

A man across the room was holding a smaller girl's hand as he pointed at the pictures on a small, cardboard book. Ryan wished he could see inside, could see what the man was speaking so passionately about. 

"It's a nice day outside," said Shane. 

"You haven’t looked outside once," tutted Ryan, glancing over at him. 

"We came in from outside. Not to mention, it must be awful interesting for you to look so intently through the window," he took a sip of his chilled coffee, "Then again, you might just be obsessed with your reflection. I don't know you that well." 

"Of course you don't know me well," Ryan turned in his seat, an edge of defense in his voice, "You have no clue who I am." 

"Well..." Shane crossed his legs and leaned both his elbows onto the table, "I know your name is Ryan. I know that you have a date on your wrist. I know that you're small but in denial-" 

"Hey!" Ryan interjected. 

"-and I _know_  that I don't  _know_  anything else about you." 

The brunette man tutted, his attention captured by the half-empty glass of orange juice still sitting in front of him, the condensation racing down the sides and pooling around the bottom. 

"Learn me something, Sir Ryan." 

"Pardon?" he glanced up, eyes wide. 

"Tell me about yourself." 

"Why on Earth would I do that?" asked Ryan, his voice filled with disgusted awe. 

"Because I asked you to," replied Shane, who smirked smugly and ducked his head to capture the straw between his lips. 

Ryan stalled for a moment, his heart trying to rewire itself to beat again. 

Tell someone about himself?! Communication with anyone was trouble, much less communication about  _himself!_  

He took a deep breath within his chest. He'd been talking with Shane for nearly twenty minutes. He could last a few more... even if it meant the topic was him. 

The conversation could swerve somewhere else, he decided. 

"My last name is Bergara," said Ryan quietly, just above his breath. 

Shane nodded, his smile growing as he extended his palm for Ryan to shake, "Hello, Ryan Bergara. My name is Shane Madej." 

 _Madej_ , Ryan thought, _short but nice._  

His shaky, unstable hand met Shane's, "Hello." 

"Progress," another blinding smile as their hands receded, "Please, continue." 

"Um..." 

"It doesn't have to be an interesting thing. What's the first thing that comes to mind?" 

"Lonely?" Ryan asked, his voice shaking almost as much as his hand. 

Shane's throat made a noise, starting Ryan, "No, I mean... oh, to hell with it. Just talk. Talk about you. I'm interested in you." 

Ryan's lips pressed into a line, his face burning. 

"No, not like that," Shane laughed quietly before adding, "Not unless you want me to." 

The brunette gently rested his forehead against the table, mumbling a small sentence. 

"What was that?" 

"I said," repeated Ryan with an annoyed, yet quiet tone, "I like being alone." 

"Me too," Shane smiled at the top of Ryan's head, "We could be lonely together." 

"That seems mighty antonymous," he grumbled, shifting in his chair. 

"So... Work," Shane tapped his fingers on the table as he noted Ryan's discomfort, "You enjoy it?" 

"I don't know." 

"You don't know." 

"I don't know," Ryan repeated, "I go in, I press buttons, I leave." 

Shane's eyes narrowed, "Do you know what you do?" 

"Enter, left, right, a-s-f-t, right again, two lefts, enter," Ryan recited, "And then I go to the bank to get my money." 

"And that isn't odd to you?" 

"As odd as a changing tattoo on my wrist that tells me when I'll die," replied the brunette. 

Shane stared at the casualness of Ryan for only a moment before breaking out in a barked laugh, his chest shaking as he braced his palm against the cold table. Ryan jumped, startled once again by the tall man that usually sat so calmly in front of him. 

"Stop that," he said in a defensive voice, his back straightened, "Stop laughing at me." 

"I'm... I'm not laughing at  _you_ ," breathed Shane as he struggled to maintain his composure again, "I'm laughing at the situation. In no form am I laughing at _you_." 

Ryan lifted his orange juice to his mouth and spoke into the glass, "I didn't think anything was funny." 

"Well, you wouldn't, would you?" 

"What do you mean?" 

"You have no humor." 

Ryan's fingers splayed across his chest in offense, "I do _too_  have humor." 

"Where?" Shane leaned forward, "Hidden in that mop of hair you have?" 

"No..." muttered Ryan, roughly placing his juice back onto the table, the orange liquid sloshing ominously close to the lip of the glass. 

"Not everyone has humor, Ryan. It's okay not to have it." 

"Then it's a good thing I  _do_  have it." 

Shane hummed and crossed his legs, scanning over the brunette man's face with some sort of smugness that Ryan couldn't place. 

"You're so quick to defend," he spoke, his lips curling unflatteringly around the words. 

"Not true!" Ryan's voice tapered off, his spindly fingers covering his mouth, "Oh." 

Shane laughed again, quietly, "For someone without humor, you're pretty funny." 

"Well,  _you're_  confusing. That's what  _you_  are," Ryan grumbled under his breath, checking the date on his wrist with a groan as he added, "Sorry." 

"Not a problem," he sat straight and held out his hand, "Let me see." 

"What?" 

"Your wrist," Shane nodded his head toward the ink, "Let me see it." 

"Okay..." 

Ryan hesitantly turned his wrist over and, with a held breath, set it delicately in the valley of Shane's palm. 

Grinning brown eyes turned down to the skin, just hinting at blue veins, with formal numbers and letters seemingly typed on top. He twisted, gently, Ryan's hand back and forth, not quite sure what he was looking for. 

"I don't think I'm-" Ryan began to stand, but halted as the ink began to distort. 

 _Due November 28th, 2091._  

Shane's eyes widened as he leaned closer, his eyelashes just kissing the date as he looked for a trace of prosthetic or synthetic or... some other 'ic. 

"Woah, do that again." 

Ryan sat down. 

 _Due November 29th, 2091._  

"And it changes often?" asked Shane, intrigued. 

"Only when I do something to change my death date," Ryan replied meekly, standing again and sitting down for another demonstration, "It's a bit morbid when I say it aloud, but... but it's a nice way to keep organized." 

"Organized, how?" Shane's eyes never left the ink, alert and waiting for another digit or letter to change. 

"I keep away from things that'll change it, or... or I pick up the wrong kind of milk or something. The every day is the same. How I like it," Ryan's voice hinted at pride as he continued to watch on, Shane's fingers tracing over the date. 

"Does it ever lengthen the due date?" 

Ryan hummed, "Yeah, but I don't want it to change." 

"Why not? More time to _live_ , and you don't want it? That sounds amazing- knowing so, even more," Shane's voice was loud, but almost in a whisper, the air seemingly knocked out of him. 

"My due date is what I was born with," Ryan said, somewhat nostalgic, "It's a part of me. Why should I flirt with the future if it's already made up for me?" 

Shane snorted, "Bullshit." 

Ryan went to respond but stopped as his wrist began to morph into the one word he'd loathed so much since his terrible time at the grocery store just days earlier. 

 _Due today._  

His hand quickly clamped over his mouth, pressing down hard as he looked around the shop for guns and scary mascots and small children with bloodlust- 

"Calm down," Shane said quietly, "It's just a word on your wrist." 

"A word linked with my  _death_ ," Ryan's voice was muffled behind his quivering palm. 

Somehow, he always seemed to end up in that position- terrified of his own wrist. How silly was that?! 

"It changes all the time, anyway," he continued in a narrow attempt to calm the brunette man down, pulling his hand away slowly, "You'll be okay." 

Their eyes simultaneously flickered to the date, which was back at its original glory. 

"God, I hate this sometimes," Ryan ran a hand through his tangled hair. 

Shane shook his head, saying nothing as he watched Ryan inspect his own wrist as if for the very first time. 

"I imagine so," Shane closed his mouth and thought before continuing, "But, anyway, you've been alive for x amount of years. Nothing much has changed, right?" 

Ryan nodded, nearly imperceptible through his shakiness. 

"Alright," Shane smiled and stood, offering his hand, "Let's get out of here, shall we?" 


	5. Chapter 5

Ryan winced at the loud 'ding' of the door and stepped inside, "Hello?"

"Ah! Ryan, my friend!"

An audible gasp fell from his lips as he was tumbled backward into a hug, small and familiar arms wrapped around his waist.

"Hey," he mumbled, trying to pry her off to no avail.

"You've not stopped by in ages!" she cried, "Let me get a feel of you, then. Lost weight?"

"I don't think so..." murmured Ryan, "But... thank you."

"For what? Tackling you?" She laughed, "I've almost forgotten how funny you are."

"Thank... you?"

She laughed louder, " _HI-_ _larious_."

Ryan gave her a look as he pushed her away, "Sara."

"I've been meaning to call you--"

"Sara."

"-- and I know you've gotten yourself into quite a few due date situations, am I right?"

" _Sara_ ," Ryan hissed, "I need your girl powers."

The girl glanced up with worried eyes, "Oh. What's the matter? Did Mama Bergara die?"

"Oh, God, no," he shook his head vigorously, "She's still very much alive and very interested in the girlfriend I don't have."

"No girlfriend?" She asked, "Then what are my girl powers needed for?"

His arm began to itch near his wrist, and his twitched slightly. He wanted to check, he wanted to check  _so badly_. But he knew that he couldn't if he wanted to say the things he wanted to. The date couldn't hold him back this time, beneath the heavy material of his long-sleeved t-shirt.

"I..." Ryan turned away from her, squeezing his lips shut as if the words were forcing themselves out and using his tongue as a battering ram.

"Did you try out the drinking vinegars your mother gave you? Ryan, those are  _not_  as good as you think they are--"

"No! No, I... Just gimme a minute," he braced himself against the counter as Sara walked around him to flip the 'OPEN' sign.

"Tell me what's going on," she said as she leaned on the counter, her playfulness gone and replaced with her motherly voice, "Did someone say something? Did they hurt you?"

"No, no," he shook his head, "I just... I went on a date."

"A date!" Sara cried, her hands clasped together with a wide smile on her face, "Who's the lucky girl?!"

"Um..."

"Joslyn?" She asked, her nose scrunching up.

"No, I--"

"Cara, then?"

"No, Sara--"

"Thank GOD, I truly hate that woman," she clicked her tongue.

Ryan, after realizing that she wasn't going to speak, said, "It's not a girl."

"Excuse me?" her eyebrow raised, "Did you go out with your sofa? What was her name?"

" _His_  name is Shane, and he is very much a human being," said Ryan, his speech quick and sharp. He quickly cut himself off and threw a hand over his mouth, checking his wrist as his sleeve rolled up slightly.

_Due November 29th, 2091._

He let out a relieved breath behind his hand, but looked up to see Sara from the market staring at him with wide, vibrant eyes.

"You're..." Sara trailed off, running a hand through her curly hair, "I knew there was something about you, but I couldn't tell what."

"That's the thing," he said behind his hand, resting his bony hip on the counter beside her, "I'm not...  _that_. I'm  _not_  gay."

"Yet you went on a date with an actual man with an actual peni--"

"AH!" Ryan screamed, covering her mouth with his now free hand, "NO!"

Sara raised her eyebrow and pushed his hand away with two fingers, "Sweetheart."

"Sara," he whimpered in response, "Girl powers. Please."

They stood in the empty convenience store, leaning on the counter and drawing battle plans into the laminated cigarette ad that was covering the table. It was a proper meeting about proper ideals, including what to do with this Shane.

"You're _sure_  it was a date," she tried to assure him and herself, "that it wasn't just an acquaintanceship. Maybe he just wants to be friends--"

"I'm sure," he replied with sad eyes, "We met at a club--"

"AT A CLUB!" Sara's hands were in the air and she was walking away, beginning to pace, "Ryan Bergara in a club, I've heard everything."

"Hear me out--"

"My love," she said, turning on her heel. She gently placed her hands on his shoulders and sighed, "You're very not straight."

"I'm very not str--"

"You're  _very_ not straight," she said, repeating it to burn the image of the words into his mind.

Ryan nodded, still reluctant, "I'm  _screwed_ , that's what I am."

"I know you are," Sara from the market kissed his cheek, "Go home, call Mama Bergara, tell her. You'll feel a lot better. I promise."

"Thank you," he said, bottom lip quivering as he wobbled to the door.

"Love you," said Sara.

"You too," said Ryan, flipping the sign before pushing the door open.

_Ding._

Ryan slipped into his car, slamming the door behind him. He buckled, checked the mirrors, placed his hand on the ignition key and-- stopped.

He turned his wrist over and stared at his date, frowning as he realized it hadn't changed a bit.

"I'm gay," he whispered.

Ryan began to cry as the date remained the same.


	6. Chapter 6

_"Hello?"_  

"I'm gay." 

 _"Pardon?"_  

Ryan took a shaky breath through his nose and curled up further into his seat, resting his chin on his knees. It was dark outside, and he'd been staring at his wrist for most of the time spent that day. 

"I'm gay," he repeated, "G-A-Y. Gay." 

He'd said it as many times as he could between the time he'd left the shop, gone home, cried, gotten back in his car, driven outside of town and parked on the side of the highway. As if it would make him feel better about it. Somehow. 

He was panicking, truly. His whole life, all twenty-five years, he'd been having anxiety attacks over girls and trying to figure out how he couldn't get one of his own-- as if girlfriends were like action figures that he could keep in the box forever just to look back on for assurance. Assurance that he was straight, something he was very not. 

 _"_ _Ryan_ , _are you crying?"_  

Ryan sniffed, wiping his eyes, "No..." 

Why in the world would he admit crying to this man whom he'd just met days before? He hadn't seen Shane since dropping him off at the Market after their coffee date. Once, he'd seen him with clear eyes and sober lips. And now, he was crying. 

 _"Hey, don't cry. What's wrong? Where are you?"_  

He glanced outside, trying to control his breathing. Should he tell? Why would he, anyways? Why did Shane care? 

"Why do you care?" Ryan repeated his thoughts quietly. 

 _"Why wouldn't I? Tell me and I'll pick you up."_  

Ryan drew in a breath, "Highway." 

 _"The main one?"_  

"I think so. There's the sign for McDonald's right there." 

 _"Oh, good, I'm near there anyway. You're not outside, are you?"_  

Ryan bit into the back of his hand, "No. I'm in a car." 

 _"Good. I'll be there in two seconds. Unlock the doors, please."_  

He threw his phone into the backseat and collapsed in on himself, hugging onto his legs and sucking his bottom lip into his mouth. He pushed down on a button and closed his eyes as the warm air turned on, blowing and pushing his hair out of his face. He pressed another, and slow, calm music filled the car. 

 _Ten.... nine.... eight..._  

Ryan counted backwards, taking deep breaths. He wanted to feel guilty for calling Shane and guilt-tripping him into saving him, but he couldn't. All he felt was anticipation and the warm air on his face. And, maybe, a little bit of excitement. 

It only took about ten minutes for Shane to arrive in his own, small Volkswagen. It was a light green that, in the headlights of passing cars, reminded Ryan of Sara. The tall man stood from where he had parked in front of Ryan's car and walked over to the passenger seat, slipping inside and looking over at him. 

Ryan opened his mouth, but closed it back when Shane removed something from his coat. 

"What's that?" choked Ryan. 

"Orange juice," he placed the condensation-coated bottle into Ryan's hand, "You like orange juice, don't you? I just remember the coffee shop, and I--" 

Ryan set the bottle in the cup holder and let his feet down, leaning over and wrapping his shaking arms around Shane's neck. 

"Ryan?" Shane's voice was warm on his ear, too quiet to have been directed at anyone in particular.

The hug lasted for only a few moments. The shorter brunette man pulled away with a small apology and curled up again. 

"Ryan," Shane said, pulling a small iced tea out as well and pushing it to stand in between his legs, "What's wrong?" 

"I'm gay." 

"I know." 

"Why am I gay?" 

Shane's eyes narrowed, "What?" 

Ryan seemed helpless as he pulled his wrist up to show him, "Look." 

"November 29th, yeah. So?" The bottle in his hand hissed as he screwed the top off, "Isn't that your original date?" 

Ryan turned it and held it close to his face, "I'm gay." 

He said it over and over, hoping to wake his wrist up somehow. To convince it that he wasn't. 

"Ryan--" 

"Why?" He looked up, "Why am I gay, Shane?" 

"There's no real reason to that, Ry. I don't know what you want me to tell you," Shane frowned, "Might I ask... is there a real reason you're this upset? Bad past, weird parents?" 

"I'm..." Ryan's eyes were glossy, "Why didn't I... know?" 

Shane sighed and, even if it was the wrong time to, rolled his eyes. He took Ryan by the wrists and pulled him from the driver's seat onto his lap. 

"Hey," he pulled the brunette man's head into his neck, "No more crying, okay? You're making me emotional." 

"I'm sorry," murmured Ryan, using his right hand, hidden inside his sleeve, to wipe his cheeks. 

"Now, listen," Shane locked his fingers together behind Ryan's back to pull him closer, "Chances are, you've been gay all your life if this is how you're reacting now." 

Ryan pouted. 

"How many girlfriends have you had?" asked Shane, his chin resting lightly on the cushion of hair on Ryan's head, "In your whole career as an awkward Ryan creature?" 

"None." 

"How many women's asses have you stared at during Work hours?" 

"Well..." 

"And not because of coffee stains." 

"Oh, none." 

Shane shook his head, "And guys?" 

"I don't pay attention to people that often." 

"Answer the question, little friend," there was a wide smile in his voice. 

"... Maybe." 

"See?" Shane lifted Ryan's head with a finger and smiled through the dark car, "I promise, it won't change much. Just that you're allowed to stare if you want, as long as you don't look creepy." 

"Will you be my gay friend?" asked Ryan. 

"We'll be gay friends together, okay?" Shane petted his own hair down, "Which means we can go to coffee shops at nearly twelve at night and talk about life. Sound good?" 

Ryan nodded, and began to crawl back to the driver's seat. Shane grabbed his wrist gently. 

"We can go in my car," he grabbed Ryan's keys from the ignition and opened the car door, "We'll pick yours up later." 

Ryan stared at his wrist for a few minutes. 

"Okay," said Ryan, gripping onto Shane's hands as he was led on shaky legs to the pretty green Volkswagen with the fuzzy dice hanging from the rear-view mirror. 

"Make yourself comfy, we'll be there in just a second." 


	7. Chapter 7

Ryan slid into the side of the booth with Shane, taking the tall man by surprise. Well, silent surprise.

He wouldn't avoid him, or tell him to go to the other side of the booth. He could have well told his smaller friend to, but... well, the social side of him assured that his friend needed comfort. The actual, emotional side of him said that he just liked his head on his shoulder.

"What would you like, Ryan?"

Ryan pointed to one of the small breakfast plates on the kids' menu that had been left by the previous cafe-goer, "That."

"Really?" Shane glanced down, making sure he wasn't kidding. He never really knew with Ryan. 

"Yeah, I'd like it," replied Ryan, "My date never changes for things on the kids' menu."

"Why do you think that is?"

"I don't care, as long as I get to eat bacon," Ryan's pointy nose drove into the space between Shane's arm and chest, trying to warm himself in the cold, Autumn atmosphere. Shane, red-faced (and blaming it on the cold), moved to hover over the man and rub his hand up and down his arm.

"I'll warm you up," said Shane.

They sat for awhile in silence, broken by the occasional "thank you" from Ryan, and the usual "you okay?" from Shane.

A waiter came around and smiled at the two of them with that "awe, a gay couple" smile. Shane noticed and smiled back, but Ryan was too busy trying to burrow himself into Shane's jacket.

"He'll have the $5.99 platter and I'll have..." He looked over the menu once and closed it, "An Irish Coffee."

"We don't serve alcoholic beverages here, sir."

Shane made an amused sound and pushed the laminated brochure away from his body, "All beverages are alcoholic beverages. You just need to add alcohol."

The waiter raised his eyebrows and nodded, "I'll see what we have."

"Thank you. So much." Shane smiled and waved before moving his arm to drape across Ryan's back again.

Ryan breathed in deeply, "You smell good."

"Thank you."

"Like my grandad."

"Oh, okay," Shane replied. 

"Like... cinnamon and gross cologne," said Ryan.

"I don't know whether to consider this a compliment, or..."

"No, it's good. I promise," Ryan looked up and nodded once, "Good memories."

"I'm glad," Shane leaned down to kiss his head but decided against it and instead rested his chin against his hair and scanned around the room.

There was a couple across the room holding hands, sipping their coffee once in unison before giggling groggily and resting their foreheads together. Shane looked away as they kissed, not wanting to invade their privacy.

The waiter was leaning on the counter and talking over the sizzling of the food to the cook, who laughed loudly at something he said. Shane watched as the cook sent a wink over to the waiter and felt his own cheeks flush at the adorableness of it all.

"Hey," he stopped the waiter as he passed. He looked down with questioning eyes.

"What would you like, sir?"

"That cook is somethin’, huh?" Shane nodded his head toward the kitchen.

His face flushed.

Shane smiled, "No time like the present."

The waited thanked him and walked away hurriedly, grabbing the cook's collar and dragging him into the back room.

"I don't ever want to leave," Ryan's voice shook Shane out of his trance.

"Why is that?"

"Tomorrow, my wrist won't let me drink orange juice and I'll have to skip breakfast and I'll have to walk to Work in the rain," Ryan sighed, "and I won't be able to sit this close to you."

"Why not? Why does the due date mean that much?"

"You wouldn't understand."

In just a moment, Ryan's hands were holding onto Shane's hand, nimble fingers tracing his beautiful blank wrist.

"I could try."

"You really couldn't."

Ryan seemed to emotionally sober up. He sat up straight, removing himself from Shane and untangling his fingers from the taller man's.

Shane felt frozen without the warmth.

The small body slid out of the booth and into the one opposite Shane, folding his hands and sending a smile to him. Shane smiled back, but his wasn't as genuine.

Ryan leaned on his hand, revealing his left wrist under his sleeve. Shane's eyes were locked onto it, daring the numbers to change, just to get him to sit in his side again.

They were the same.

"You have Work tomorrow?" asked Shane.

"Yeah..." Ryan's face took on a color of dread as he pulled his phone from his pocket, "Oh, dear." 

"Do you need to go?" Shane didn't want him to leave. He usually didn't feel lonely, but just the mere idea was making him ache.

"I think so," Ryan seemed to feel the same way.

Shane stood and tossed a few dollar bills on the table, "Stay at my house."

"Excuse me?" Ryan stayed seated.

"My house. I've got a king bed. You'll be comfortable," Shane offered his hand, "Gay friends like falling asleep to the Travel Channel together."

He knew it was a stretch. But his social side was still urging him to help, and his emotional side was just starting to leak tears from the idea of being alone.

"I need to get to Work at eleven," Ryan said, his face stoic but his voice hinting at his actual attitude.

"I'll take you to Work, wait for you to finish, and then drive you to your car," Shane bounced up and down on his toes, his arm still extended and reaching for Ryan, "Please?"

Ryan's lips twitched upward, and that was all that Shane needed. He grabbed Ryan's hand and dragged him out of the booth, tugging him along as he ran outside and to his car.

Ryan's wrist was docile and allowed them to lay in a bed together, and laugh at the funny accents together. Ryan's wrist allowed them to fall asleep within five feet of each other.

Ryan's wrist seemed to like Shane a lot. 


	8. Chapter 8

Ryan was silent on the way to Work, his body angled toward the window as town turned to countryside turned to actual city in just a matter of seconds.

He had woken up in a bed, half on top of Shane, with his shirt hiked up his chest in the dark room in which he had never set foot in. It looked a bit like his, well loved, with creme colored walls and a wardrobe made of cheap wood in the corner. Ryan had immediately woken up, grabbed his clothes from the day before, and tried to get out of there before Shane woke up as well.

But he, of course, had failed. His hand was on the doorknob when there was a gentle three-finger tap on his shoulder.

"Damn," he'd mumbled.

Shane, surprisingly, hadn't seemed upset. Just confused. His brown eyes sparkled in a different way than they always had, but Ryan was never really one to notice or care about these things. The tall man was to drive him to Work, then to his car. That was the deal.

"I can't thank you enough," Ryan murmured under his breath, fogging up the window as he spoke.

Shane hummed quietly, either sleepy or grumpy, and Ryan couldn't tell which. Shane's hands turned the wheel quickly, jerking Ryan's head into the window. "Sorry."

Ryan rubbed his head, his eyebrows knitted together above his eyes as he opened his mouth, struggling to form a sentence.

"You okay?" He settled on the cliché question for an unknown reason. He'd always loathed getting the question himself, but... there wasn't much else to say. What did he know about Shane? Hardly anything. Hardly anything that he could remember, anyway. He was practically a stranger.

"Fine," Shane stopped the car, "You're here."

"Oh, thank you," Ryan unbuckled himself and opened the door slightly, "Could you wait for me? I'll just be two seconds."

Shane turned in his seat and played with the chain on the edge of his key, not talking.

Ryan sent another worried glance over his shoulder and, after consulting with his wrist, patted him on the shoulder once. The night before was a blur, honestly, but he couldn't stand the thought of being in a bed with another body. It was a disgusting thought, so he blocked it out, as he did with most thoughts of the sort.

His shoes made clicky sounds against the tile floor as he scurried into the building, as quick as he could. He didn't want to leave Shane waiting.

_Enter, left, right, a-s-f-t, right again, two lefts, enter. Enter, left, right, a-s-f-t, right again, two lefts, enter._

He chanted in his head, willing himself not to forget. How easy it was supposed to be, remembering a few lines of code,  _simple_  code. But somehow he always seemed to draw a blank, especially when he really needed the money.

_Enter, left, right, a-s-f-t, right again, two lefts, enter._

Ryan slapped a tune over top of the words and hummed it all the way up to the office-- which was three floors and a small staircase up from the lobby. It didn't take long, though, with the lightspeed elevators that had been working as if they were new for five whole years.

"Ryan," a man nodded his head in Ryan's direction as he passed.

"... Sir," Ryan gave a hesitant nod back, glancing to his wrist worriedly.

He'd never been noticed before, not ever. Not in real life and  _especially_ not in the Workplace. Did he have something on his face? His hair was messy, perhaps? No, that couldn't be it.

Ryan tucked his chin to his chest and pushed the doors open to his section of cubicles. He blinked a few times and quickly pushed the stack of cards off of his keyboard. They were pretty cards, much prettier than the drab colors of the office and fluorescent lights that seemed to make Ryan's skin paler than it really was.

He quickly grabbed them all in his hands, his heart beating fast with excitement as he pinned them all to his blank bulletin board. He'd never had anything on it before, much less birthday cards!

"Happy birthday," Ryan's fingers danced across the pretty embroiderment. He glanced over at his calendar and, sure enough, it was his birthday.

He didn't have to Work on his birthday. His money would be waiting in the bank for him.

"My birthday," he said again, under his breath. He smiled to himself and fished his phone from his pocket as he made his way out of the office, onto the elevator. Ryan dialed Shane's number, somehow already memorized, and held the phone to his ear.

The purr of the dial tone lasted but a second until the answering machine picked up for Shane and informed him that his voicemail was full. He tried again, and again, but eventually checked his wrist and halted. His wrist obviously didn't want him to scare Shane off.

Ryan decided to send a text message.

_It's my birthday, so I don't have to work. How weird, I didn't know it was my birthday. I'm coming bac--_

Ryan stopped in the front doorway and glanced around, his eyebrows furrowed. He deleted the message and started over.

_Where are you?_

There was a vacant spot where Shane's car had been parked, drips of oil in its place.

Ryan frowned and tucked his phone back into his pocket, turning on his heel and beginning to walk in the direction of his apartment. He tried to ignore the sting in his chest-- it wasn't like he expected anything else.

Shane was a stranger. That was all he'd be.

Ryan kicked a piece of tire rubble and hurried down the sidewalk, not bothering to go to the bank. He'd need to use all of his energy to get to the apartment, maybe call Sara from the market later to drive him to his car.

He sighed and checked his wrist, slightly relieved that, when a tear dripped onto his pale skin, the ink didn't change. He wouldn't have to go through the process of trying not to cry.

Trying not to cry was usually gnawing on his lip and squeezing his hands into fists and letting the tears dry on their own because they aren't even there. Right?

Another piece of rubble went flying across the pavement, and Ryan let a few more tears fall, every now and then pretending that it was raining.

His wrist didn't like that as much. Making Ryan cry even more.


	9. Chapter 9

There was a knock at the door.

Ryan groaned outwardly, wondering if he could avoid whoever was standing outside, but his wrist dropped down to _Due in Seconds,_ and he was up and dragging his feet toward the incessant banging on the wood of his safety. He made a show for his wrist (ridiculous? yes.) to prove that he wasn't ecstatic, that perhaps if he projected his angst out of his body he'd get a break for once. His eyes had just stopped stinging from the tears! Could he not be spared?

Apparently not, because Shane was on the other side of his door.

"Where did you go?" Shane asked, tilting his head. He walked into Ryan's apartment, past the shocked Ryan, who stayed put. "I looked everywhere. Every-where, Ryan, I thought you'd gotten picked up and kidnapped!"

"And... w-where were _you_?" A dull form of anger brewing in Ryan's stomach spoke, though his anxiety was in the process of smothering it. "You left me to walk home by myself!"

"You were taking a long time! I figured I had some time to kill," Shane shook his head, clearly rethinking his decision. "Besides, did you think I'd just ditch you?"

"... Yes. Clearly." Ryan held his hands up, gesturing to the situation that had already passed. "Of course I thought you'd ditch me. We're strangers."

"Are we, really?"

"Yes." Ryan's eyes grew wide. "Also, how? Did you find me? Where I live, I mean." Ryan squinted. "Are you a stalker?"

"No, Ryan. I'm not a stalker. I just yelled your name until a little woman came out to the street and told me where you live."

"Sara?"

"Her name was Sara?" Shane shrugged, "Nice name."

"I can't believe she just..." Ryan put his head in his hands. "This is crazy."

"Anyway," Shane raised his hand, a small grey bag dangling from his fingers, "Let's figure out what all this is about, hm?"

"What? What." Ryan looked at Shane's wrist, obstructed by a white patch attached with masking tape. "Shane, you _didn't_."

"You're so crazy about these things, I figure they must be wonderful." Shane fell onto Ryan's couch. Ryan opened his mouth to say _hey, you can't do that_ but his wrist seemed to think otherwise. "Let's see when I'm going to die."

"Shane..." Ryan said reluctantly. "Did you really get one?"

Shane tugged the cover from his skin, wincing. "Yes, Ry. I really got one."

"Why?"

"Because I figured it would be cute," Shane said, smirking, though there was no trace of mockery in his words. He squinted at the dull ink, "It's a bit light."

"It takes a while to activate," Ryan said softly. He pointed to the grey bag that sat next to Shane on the cushion. "You have to follow the instructions in there."

"Nice," Shane dug into the sack, making amused noises through his teeth as he dug through his goodies. "This is very excessive."

"You don't want it to have false readings." Ryan was still standing, for absolutely no reason.

"Frankly, I don't care. As long as I've got a tattoo that can think freely of itself, I'm golden." Shane popped the cap on the activation lotion and raised an eyebrow, "This is incredibly suggestive."

"You put it on the tatt - ugh, fine." Ryan threw his hesitation out the window, frustrated with Shane's spontaneity, snatching the bottle from Shane with one hand and seizing his wrist with the other. He knelt in front of Shane. "I'll do it."

Shane smiled, "Aw, thank you, Ry. My hero."

Ryan looked to his own wrist. Absolutely no change. "My wrist seems to think so."

"Thank you, sir," Shane tipped an invisible cap to Ryan's tattoo, and it was ridiculous. "This is quite intimate, Ryan. You, tending to the tattoo that will be a constant reminder of my mortality. Very morbidly intimate."

"You can get it removed," Ryan mumbled, reaching into the bag and grabbing the bandage to wrap around Shane's hand.

"We should get our tattoos removed together."

" _No_."

"Alright," Shane nodded, admiring Ryan's handiwork. "Then I won't get it removed."

"Why are you doing this?"

"To show you that I don't give a shit?" It was clearly the most simple thing in the world. Ryan didn't understand. "Any of your weird ticks or anxiety disorders. I don't care, Ryan. Don't think I'm just going to leave you alone on the side of the road because I felt like it."

Ryan blinked, "Oh."

"Have faith in me," Shane said. He placed his hand on Ryan's face and he felt his tattoo hum.

"I do," Ryan said, voice broken into approximately a thousand pieces.

"Good," Shane said, standing and receding. He took the bag and the equipment from Ryan's hands, tossing it in. "Any other instructions I need to follow?"

"Reapply in 12 hours," Ryan said robotically, his heart spasming in his chest like it had never known the touch of another human before now. "And then you're good."

"Nice." Shane tossed the bag in a direction he couldn't even trace and placed his hands on his hips, surveying the lay of the land. "Nice place."

"Thanks." Ryan was still kneeling, looking at his empty hands with _what have I done_ echoing through his head.

"Well, I should probably head out."

Ryan looked at his wrist. _Due March 17th, 2084._

"No." Ryan finally stood. "Stay. You have to stay."

Shane shook his head. "Oh, for the car? I can drive you to get your car now if you want. Because you left before I could do so, earlier."

_Due March 16th, 2020._

"No." Ryan rubbed at his wrist as if he could erase it. He was starting to panic. What had he done to deserve this? "You need to stay tonight or I die in two years."

Shane crossed the room in two steps, taking Ryan's hand carefully in his hand. He surveyed Ryan's wrist. "Huh."

"Just. Say you'll stay. Please."

"I'll stay."

_Due November 29, 2091._

Shane blew a puff of air through his lips, eyebrows raised. "That's interesting."

"I really think it likes you more than it likes me," Ryan said quietly, his eyes watery with relief. "I don't know why, it just... every time you try to go away, it freaks out."

"Guess I'm just a very comforting guy." Ryan's wrist vibrated. Like a purr. Why was Ryan burdened with this? "I'll stay, Ryan. No worries, wristy."

"Don't call it that," Ryan wrenched away.

_Due today._

Ryan slipped his hand back into Shane's grip with a sigh, "I can't believe this."

"I think this is frankly hilarious," Shane said, though his eyes weren't harsh. "I won't blame you for your wrist's actions, Ry. Nothing to stress about."

Ryan couldn't help himself, but he nodded anyway. "Okay."

"Gay tattoo friends," Shane said before letting go of Ryan and reaching into his pocket. "I've got to change your contact name in my phone, now."

"I hate you."

_Due tomorrow._

"I don't hate you," Ryan corrected.

_Due November 29, 2091._

Shane's eyes were glimmering, but he said absolutely nothing.


	10. Chapter 10

Ryan had been forced to allow Shane into bed that night, as his wrist was adamant that he would die in five minutes every time he tried to offer Shane a sleeping place on the couch. Shane found everything very funny, as evidenced by his wide grin throughout the entire time Ryan was trying to get a grip on things.

"Can I at least have a pillow boundary?" Ryan asked his wrist. _Due November 20, 2091._ "Shit."

"I won't fondle you while you sleep, Ryan, calm down." Shane crawled onto Ryan's mattress in his normal clothes, the one place he'd think to seek solace for the years he'd lived in his apartment, now tainted by that grinning face and those long limbs. "We've slept in a bed together before."

"Yes, but that was different."

"How?" Shane had asked, looking at Ryan with odd eyes. "You understand that I'm only sleeping here because you seem to be held hostage by your own tattoo."

"I'm not held hostage."

"Are too," Shane stuck his tongue out, sinking underneath the duvet, "But I will admit, this is very comfortable."

Ryan shook his head, toeing his shoes off underneath the bed frame and shimmying out of his pants, "You're making it weird."

"Once again, _not_ the one listening to his sentient wrist," Shane said, waving his bandaged left arm in the air before pausing, "Thought I might, in the coming days."

"Yes, I'll be fascinated to find out if your tattoo is obsessed with me as well," Ryan said, grumpily shoving his legs underneath the blanket. He brought the covers up to his nose and stared at the ceiling.

"He absolutely must be, or else he's not mine," Shane said, turning on his side to plug his phone in. He let out a sigh, rolling on his back once again.

If there were two things Ryan knew, it was that he was tired and he hated Shane.

He must have fallen asleep immediately after that thought because, suddenly, he was waking up on top of Shane for a second time, Shane's arms looped limply around his waist as though they'd never known an existence away from him, and Ryan had a few things to say but no words to say them.

"Get up," he said instead, unmoving.

Shane opened an eye and peered down at him. "Why?"

"Your tattoo should be fine."

"Okay, but why do I need to get up?"

"Because you're..." Ryan shifted, still making no attempt to escape Shane's hold. In case his wrist would threaten him. "You seem to be embracing me."

"It seems so, yes." Shane closed his eye and sighed. Ryan waited for more, but there was none.

"Shane, please just get up."

"I still have no reason to get up."

"I'll. Punch you."

"Ryan, your wrist would go berserk," Shane muttered, tightening his hold on his... friend? What was Ryan?

"That's... that's fine."

"Mhm," Shane said noncommittally.

There was red-hot pain in Shane's shoulder and he let Ryan go, scrambling to the headboard, knocking Ryan off of him in seconds. Ryan didn't dare look at his wrist. If he was to die, he was to die, because the look on Shane's face - surprised, confused, in pain - was well worth it.

Well, until he smiled and started clapping.

"Bravo, Ryan! Good job, buddy. You did it!" Shane pushed himself to stand on the bed, a full standing ovation, while Ryan looked up at him guiltily. "Don't look at me like that, Ryan, you've done it! You've conquered one of your many fears!"

"I'm sorry," Ryan said quietly.

"No, no, don't go back on it now." Shane fell on the bed, jutting his jaw out like an offering, "Gimme another one. You'll feel better."

"I'm not... no." Ryan said, pushing his face away. "I'm already free from your grip, I don't need to punch you again."

"That's sweet," Shane said, rolling off of the bed. "We should really be going, though. Your car is probably feeling very lonely."

"I completely forgot," Ryan said, pushing himself to stand as well. He pulled his jeans up and followed Shane out the door, "I can't believe you slept in your clothes."

"What was I supposed to do?" Shane grabbed his keys from the counter where he'd left them beside his grey bag. "Strip? No, Ryan, you would have had an aneurysm."

"Maybe, but still." Ryan opened the door for Shane, who pranced outside with his things in his arm.

The drive was relatively silent. Ryan's knuckles ached vaguely from throwing a punch at Shane's bony frame, but the guilt was genuinely eating away at the lining of his stomach. Shane was clearly unbothered, humming along to a song that wasn't playing and making random comments on clouds he would deem cute.

Ryan waited until he could see the figure of his car, lonely on the side of the road, before he spoke up. "I'm sorry for punching you."

"You warned me," Shane said with a smile and a trace of a laugh, "Don't get caught up on that, Ryan. It was out of character, but it was... exhilarating."

"... Really?"

"Yep," Shane said, moving his shoulder. "I see you now, a changed man."

Ryan blinked. "A changed man?"

"A man with instincts. Perhaps a spot of humor," Shane pulled to the other side of the white line, nearly scraping against the metal border. He said it so casually as if it hadn't completely knocked Ryan's world on its head. "Off you go."

"Where are you going to go?" Ryan asked. He reached to unbuckle his seatbelt but waited patiently for Shane's response.

"To... to my house?" Shane looked at him. "I have a house. You've been there."

"Right." Ryan still didn't move. "Okay."

"I'll update you on the tattoo situation as I feel it out," Shane promised, holding a hand out. Ryan hesitantly shook it. "Take care of yourself, Ryan."

"Are we never going to see each other again?"

"Oh, I plan to see you again," Shane said, rolling his eyes, "But I don't want you to beat yourself up over an impulse."

"Okay." Ryan looked at his wrist for the first time that day. "Okay."

When Shane pulled off without Ryan, his wrist had nothing to say. There was a brief moment of panic, that he'd somehow broken his tattoo with the force of his punch, but it became clear that somehow it was on good terms with where he and Shane had parted ways.

Ryan drove home with little more than a smile, and he had no explanation for it. _A changed man_ , he thought. _I like how that sounds._


	11. Chapter 11

Ryan woke up early without an alarm. He checked his phone to see if Shane had texted, he hadn't, and briskly went through his daily routine, not bothering to glance at his whiteboard. He knew what he felt was important. He didn't need to read the words. He knew to brush his teeth, comb his hair. He was dressed and out the door in record time, his keys in his hand and some sort of positivity brewing in his stomach.

He was a changed man. A changed man who deliberately put his watch over his tattoo and felt no overwhelming need to check. Maybe it was because he could still feel the sting of his knuckles after punching Shane, and even more, he could hear Shane's voice in the back of his head praising him for being spontaneous.

But he wasn't feeling amazing just because of Shane. That would be... ridiculous. And unlike Ryan at all. Then again, Ryan felt too happy to feel like Ryan.

Ryan entered the grey building without much of a thought. He crossed the room and sat at his desk, he booted up his Machine, he tapped his fingers against the desk as he waited. It took much longer than he remembered.

_Enter, left, right, a-s-f-t, right again, two lefts, enter. Enter, left, right, a-s-f-t, right again, two lefts, enter._

Ryan typed fast. He was done in seconds. That was weird.

Ryan stood from his desk and grabbed his keys. He heard Shane's voice in the back of his head, slurred and yelling over disco music: isn't it weird going somewhere to do nothing? you know that's all bullshit, right?

Ryan pulled himself up from the chair, looking around. There had to be more than that. It took two seconds.

He was walking back outside, two minutes after he'd entered, with a confused smile on his face. He looked to his wrist. Everything seemed fine.

He sat in his car for a long time, staring at his hands that rested on the steering wheel. He jumped as his wrist began to convulse, long and hard vibrations. Ryan unbuckled his watch, rubbing at his skin. "What the hell?"

Ryan stared at the ink, waiting for it to change to a new date or something, but it didn't. It just pulsed at him, somehow trying to tell him that something was happening, something was coming -

"Ryan!" A palm slammed against the passenger window.

The short man jumped a foot into the air, his head bumping against the roof. He clutched at his chest, looking with wide eyes out the window. He wished he could smile at Shane's stupid face peering in at him gleefully, but all he felt was his heart trying to figure out how to beat again.

Shane pressed his wrist against the window, "Take a look at that!"

Ryan squinted. "That's my date."

"I know!" Shane looked at it proudly, "What are the chances, right?"

Ryan watched as Shane opened the door, expecting the tall man to slide into the seat and buckle, but he didn't. Ryan blinked. Shane was incredibly sweaty.

"Did you... run here?"

"Yes!" Shane panted, bending down to look at Ryan. "Watch this, though."

Shane started to back away from the car and Ryan clutched at his wrist as it began to panic again. "What are you doing?"

"I think your tattoo and mine are dating," Shane said. He walked closer and Ryan's ink calmed. He repeated the action several times. "Isn't that weird?"

"A bit," Ryan said quietly. "I don't understand. You didn't have one for long, though."

"I guess yours is just that irresistible." Shane scratched his head, looking around. "Oh, we're near your Work."

"Yeah. How... how did you? Find me?"

"You sped by me earlier today and my wrist started going bananas," Shane put his hands on his hips, squinting down the street. "So I looked up and I was like _hey, that looks like Ry's car_ and then I was like _oh, that IS Ry's car,_ so I ran to get you and now I'm here and my hypothesis is confirmed. Our tats are dating."

"Don't call it a hypothesis," Ryan said, though his face was breaking into a smile. "I'm glad you're here."

"Oh?" Shane tilted his head, beads of sweat dripping down his forehead. "How come?"

"I'm... panicking, a little?" Ryan said, and Shane was immediately in the car, closing the door, concern stretched across his face. He looked much sweatier up close. "Not too bad, just... everything is so... weird."

"... Yes, Ryan, everything can be weird."

"No, I mean. Like, with Work." Ryan looked down at his hands, at his wrist. "It took five seconds. It doesn't... it doesn't matter."

"Correct."

"So why am I doing it?"

"I don't know," Shane shrugged, smiling quietly at him. "I have no _earthly_ idea."

"Well, what do I do about it?"

"I don't know," Shane replied. "But. When's the last time you picked a movie to watch on your own?"

"It's been awhile," Ryan said. "My tattoo didn't like it."

"You're crazy," Shane said. "We'll change that, today."

Ryan nodded. "You should buckle your seatbelt."

"Okay," Shane said, reaching over his shoulder, "I'll give you that."


	12. Chapter 12

Shane entered Ryan's apartment, taking a deep breath through his nose. He had gotten comfortable with the space pretty quickly. Ryan didn't know how to feel about that. The way Shane walked through his home so effortlessly, like he'd been there for years. He looked comfortable.

"You know, it's much better in here now that you're letting loose," Shane spun around once or twice, smiling at Ryan before disappearing into the kitchen.

"Excuse me?" Ryan followed, smiling for absolutely no reason.

"Much less stuffy," Shane opened the fridge and shook his head, reaching in and moving the milk to the other side of the fridge. "Now that you've unlocked the Real You."

"I've always been the _Real Me_ ," Ryan mimed quotes with his fingers as he turned the corner.

"Yeah, but it's more fun."

"Was I not fun before?" His grin faltered.

"You were," Shane assured him, standing up to look at him, his arm resting on the door. He was serious. Weird. "Of _course_ you were, Ryan."

Ryan looked at his wrist. It had gone quite... quiet, so suddenly. He met Shane's eyes, "That's... good."

"So," Shane bent back down and stared into the white-light. "Now that you've have the revelation that your lifestyle is lame and meaningless, what are you gonna do?"

"Candy-coat it, won't you?" Ryan slumped against the cabinet, watching Shane rampage through his half-empty fridge. "I don't know. I'm not good at this."

"At what?" Shane opened the freezer with a frown, clearly upset at the lack of ice cream.

"Living without a plan."

"Eh, you've never tried," Shane closed the doors, "No worries, Ryan. I'll help you."

"I didn't ask you for help," Ryan said. Maybe he was a little snappy. His wrist probably didn't like that very much, but he didn't look.

"Right." Shane nodded, uncertain. "Well, if you ever _need_ help. I'll help you."

"I do want help. I just." Ryan rubbed his eyes. "This is just crazy. I feel like I just woke up."

"You did." Shane said. "And I'm not gonna say I told you so."

"You didn't tell me so."

"But I implied it."

Ryan stared at him, "Who _are_ you, Shane?"

"What?" Shane was staring at him blankly, standing straight up, the unremarkable light of Ryan's kitchen still somehow bearing him in a perfect light. Strong light dividing his face in two (top and bottom, forehead vs jaw), and if it were anyone else, Ryan would have found it unappealing.

Every now and then, Ryan was reminded that he was gay.

Every now and then, Ryan was reminded that it was Shane who made him realize that he was gay.

"I don't know anything about you," Ryan found himself saying before he could stop himself. There was a serious disconnect between his mouth and his brain. He didn't know who to blame for that, but he had an idea.

"You do," Shane said, though he paused and rubbed a hand over his chin, perplexed. "Well, you might not remember the things I told you, but it's all pretty hazy."

Ryan blinked. "Right. The, uh, club. Thing."

"Yes, the club thing." Shane's eyes shimmered, "No worries, I can retell you about all my boring adventures. We've got time."

"Boring?" Ryan asked, a squeak. "You're not boring."

"Compared to you? No, I'm not."

"Why are you so rude?" Ryan huffed.

"I'm really not?" Shane looked up at the ceiling, "Say, do you remember that time you punched me and I applauded you?"

"That's because you're crazy."

"Fair."

Ryan placed his head in his hands. Silence was a much better option than entertaining the tall man in his kitchen who seemed only able to speak words that made Ryan burn from the inside out. Shane hummed, somewhere distant, but Ryan didn't budge.

"Aw, Ryan." Shane's voice breathed from across the room. "I'm in your top six?"

Ryan froze. "What?"

"Things to remember," Shane began to read, and Ryan was alert, sprinting across the apartment and snatching the whiteboard from Shane's hands. "Hey! I was reading that."

"Well, it's only six words. So." Ryan erased the writing with his sleeve, "You obviously can't read."

"When did you write that?" Shane was smirking at him, but Ryan didn't cast his eyes upwards. He just stared at the blank board and wondered why he'd written it at all.

"Can't remember," Ryan said. He could. "Doesn't matter."

"I think it does." Shane placed a hand on Ryan's shoulder, warm and firm. "Ryan, it's okay."

"Ever since you showed up, everything's changed," Ryan said. He didn't know what he meant by that. He didn't know if it was a good thing.

"Yeah?"

"Yes." Ryan said. And then he opened his mouth again, "And I don't know if that's a good thing."

"I can distance myself, if you need?" Shane's voice didn't sound like anything - no hope, no disappointment. Just a voice. He felt too distant, already.

"No," Ryan decided, maybe too quickly. "That would make it worse."

"Okay."

Ryan tightened his grip on the board in his hands, his vision blurring around the edges. "I..."

"Are you okay?" Shane's voice was close and soft, his hand still planted on Ryan's shoulder.

"Yes, I just..." Ryan blinked. "I wanna..."

"I can, uh..." Shane removed his fingers from where they had slipped into Ryan's collarbone, an imprint in the wrinkled fabric of Ryan's shirt.

"No." Ryan looked up at him, holding the board up by his head, proving it was real. "I wanna break this."

Shane exhaled, raising an eyebrow. "You do?"

"Yes. I wanna break this," Ryan snapped it against his knee and Shane cheered, calling out a _woah, watch out!_ and jumping up and down. "And I want to break some more things!"

"You've got a half-empty pickle jar in your fridge!" Shane said, pointing at him, eyes wide with enthusiasm.

"Let's break that shit!" Ryan's eyes were even wider, stretching his eyelids.

"Yes, Ryan! Yes!" Shane ran to the kitchen and Ryan was behind him.


	13. Chapter 13

Shane laid on his back on the floor of Ryan's apartment, hands on his stomach as he heaved breaths. All of Ryan's plates laid shattered around him, the cabinets ripped from their hinges, his shirt vaguely wet from pickle juice. Ryan's head was on his chest, nose pointing to the sky, holding his wrist above his eyes and waiting for a reaction. Something.

"How is it..." Ryan said, voice a bit rough from screaming gleefully earlier as he destroyed nearly everything he owned. "...that it hasn't changed? A month ago, I'd get the wrong kind of fruit and it would give me a new date."

"I don't know," Shane said in a long exhale. "I stand by my theory that our tattoos are bonded."

"But I got my tattoo before you got yours," Ryan said. He paused. " _Decades_ before you got yours."

"Don't... don't say it like that," Shane pressed his hand to his forehead, "You're giving me vertigo."

Ryan sighed. "Do you think...?"

"Sometimes."

"No," Ryan rolled onto his stomach, placing his chin on Shane's shoulder. The taller man lulled his head to the side to look at him. "I mean. Do you think it's... like, us."

Shane shrugged, moving Ryan in the process. "That could also make sense."

"But why?"

Shane shook his head and looked back to the ceiling, "You're asking the wrong man, buddy."

"What do we do?"

"You ask me this like this is a life or death situation." Shane brought his wrist to his face and laughed. "Well, I guess it is."

"Not funny," Ryan said. The scolding didn't reach his eyes.

"Sorry, Ry."

"What did we talk about?"

"I'm not used to you just... saying what you're thinking," Shane said. He pushed himself up on his elbows, knocking Ryan up as well. "When?"

"At the club."

"Nothing exciting," Shane said. "Just that you've got a family you love and you used to like Paddington before you got all... you know. And that you're a sports nut in hiding."

"No, I mean about you. What did we talk about, about you."

"Oh, just some humble beginning mumbo jumbo," Shane said with a smirk, "Nothing to write home about."

"But I want to."

"Oh." The smirk fell. "Well, I have an online job and I never brush my hair."

"You need to brush your hair...?" Ryan blinked at him. "But I want to talk about _you_ , Shane. Not what you do."

"That makes absolutely no sense."

"Please?" Ryan laid back down, letting his hands hold up his chin as he waited. "Please."

"I think..." Shane settled back down on the ground, his head accidentally thudding against the linoleum, just missing a shard of a plate long gone. "...we should clean your apartment."

" _Shane_."

"Okay," Shane sighed, turning his head. "What all do you wanna know?"

"Your birthday."

"May 16th." Shane said. "Yours?"

"November 26th," Ryan said quietly, before laughing. "I feel like we skipped this part."

"Eh," Shane said, and his eyes were so warm that Ryan thought he might melt. He brushed the thought away. "If we did this when we first met, it wouldn't have nearly been as interesting."

Ryan nodded, "I guess."

"This is all very weird," Shane said to the ceiling. "If you hadn't given me your number while intoxicated, I don't know what I'd be doing right now."

"I know what I'd be doing," Ryan said. Shane raised his eyebrows expectantly. "Panicking."

"Right." Shane smiled.

"I really need to clean this place," Ryan decided, pushing himself up. Shane went to stand as well, but his legs were asleep and forgot how to stand, and he was stumbling onto Ryan in seconds, one hand tangling in the side of Ryan's shirt and the other landing on the counter, his face in Ryan's neck and Ryan's lips against Shane's ear and everything was very overwhelming.

"Um." Said Shane.

"Well." Said Ryan.

The shorter man carefully took a step back, helping Shane balance on his feet, before risking a glance to his wrist.

No change. Of course not.

"Hey, Ryan," Shane said, a beginning to a very vulnerable statement that Ryan could have heard from miles away, and Ryan held up a hand to stop him.

"You should sleep here again."

Shane nodded, "Yeah, after we clean your house."

"Yeah."

They stared at each other for a long time. Shane just kept watching Ryan stare at his wrist for an uncomfortably long time.

"I'm trying to figure out if I should..." Ryan trailed off, rubbing his eye with his free hand. "Whatever. Will you grab that broom?"

"Yessir," Shane broke himself from the tension, brushing his palms on his jeans and walking to where Ryan was pointing.


	14. Chapter 14

Shane tucked himself under the covers, legs straight and elbows tucked into his sides. His hair still smelled vaguely of pickle juice, but half of Ryan's house did as well, so there wasn't much judgment to be outwardly voiced without hypocrisy. Ryan was in the bathroom doing something silently, the light under the door disrupted over and over again as he moved.

Breathing was getting difficult for Shane. Every breath reminded him where he was, with whom, a reminder of the constant evolution of a relationship he had hoped would work for quite some time. Ryan was... good. He was comfortable, and for unknown reasons, he put up with Shane far more than his own mother had. The earlier fall into each other had sent a shock through his bones and a rush through his veins, and Shane was left wondering if he was the only one who'd felt it.

Ryan entered and Shane turned, offering a smile. Ryan just rolled his eyes, "You look ridiculous."

"What?" Shane looked down at himself. "Why?"

"The blankets pulled up to your chin, and the little..." Ryan waved his finger in the direction of something above Shane's head.

"Little what?" Shane looked up as though he could see something. "I thought nothing about me was little?"

"Funny. No, your hair is..." Ryan pointed his finger and placed on top of his head, "You're like a unicorn."

"Thanks," Shane said, his face flushed against his wishes.

"Well, fix it. It's dumb," Ryan said, walking around the bed and crawling in. He sat up in bed, his hip nearly against Shane's temple, and pulled the covers up to his navel. He palmed the top of Shane's head, smushing the hair down. Shane closed his eyes in anticipation for a hit or pull of some sort, but instead Shane felt gentle fingers carding through his hair. "Soft," Ryan said.

"Thanks, I grew it myself," Shane said, opening an eye.

"That's so dumb," Ryan said, though he laughed and sunk underneath the blankets anyway.

"That's why I said it," Shane said quietly, "That's why I say a lot of things."

"Yeah," Ryan said. His shoulders were scrunched by his ears, eye to eye with Shane for the first time in a long time.

"I..." Shane said, though he had little to nothing to say.

"Hey," Ryan picked up the slack, holding eye contact. "When you called me the first time, you said you don't find people like me anymore."

"Did I?" Shane asked, raising an eyebrow. "You remember?"

"Yeah," Ryan said. "Of course I do."

Shane smiled and sunk further into the blankets.

"But," he continued, "what did that mean?"

"Uh?" Shane attempted a shrug, though his left shoulder was trapped under his body. "I don't know. Good ones."

"Good ones?"

"Yeah, you know." Shane couldn't bring himself to look away. "Good people. People that haven't hurt a person in their lives. Soft people, I guess."

"Soft people," Ryan repeated with a small nod. Shane wondered if he'd said something wrong. "Okay."

"Did I - "

Ryan kissed the corner of Shane's mouth before turning over onto his other side and closing his eyes. Shane's eyes couldn't have been wider.

"Hey, Ryan?" He asked quietly.

"Yeah?" Ryan replied.

"Do you wanna pretend like that didn't happen?" Shane finally blinked and turned his head to the side, staring between Ryan's shoulder blades.

"No," Ryan said, voice quiet, unmoving.

Shane shimmied forward, pressing his chin into Ryan's shoulder. He slid his arm hesitantly around Ryan, trying to figure out if _this was okay,_ but Ryan had no objections and seemed to sink back into the embrace. 

"I'm sleeping," Ryan said through a very audible grin.

"Well, wake up," Shane said, moving impossibly closer and resting his temple against Ryan's ear.

"No," Ryan said.

"Fine," Shane said.


	15. Chapter 15

Ryan stood in the bathroom, staring at himself, his toothbrush hanging out the side of his mouth. For the first time in a long time, he didn’t _want_ to do his usual routine. He didn’t _want_ to brush his hair or put on the starched shirts that choked him and made it hard to breathe. The t-shirt Shane had lent him fit so comfortably and felt so soft against his skin and it smelled like home – no, it smelled like Shane, but Ryan wasn’t so sure they weren’t the same thing.

He leaned over the sink to spit and sighed. They’d kissed. He’d kissed Shane, and Shane held him and it was all very unfamiliar. But he wanted it to be familiar.

He didn’t care what his wrist said, he decided, as he went to dip his hands into the cold water and wash his face.

“Oh,” he said, instead, knocking the faucet handle down and stopping the water. He raised his voice slightly, “Hey, Shane?”

“What’s up?” Shane called back from a few rooms over, the clatter of pans heard directly after, followed by a soft, “Sorry.”

Ryan placed his toothbrush on the counter and walked down the hallway, not bringing his eyes away from his wrist. “It’s gone.”

Ryan stopped, his bare feet stopping just before they hit tile. He only looked up when Shane fell silent, finding the tall man on the ground and staring at his own.

“So is mine.” Shane said, lifting his eyes from his blank skin, his legs sprawled everywhere accompanied by various kitchenware he had dropped on the way down. “Are you okay?”

“Um?” Ryan shrugged, letting his hand fall. “I think so. Are, uh, you?”

“Yeah, I’m fine,” Shane said, still on the ground.

Ryan stared down at him, where Shane started to halfheartedly gather up his mess. He stared at Shane’s unbrushed hair, at his wrinkled clothes. And he turned his gaze down to himself, sure that he must have looked similar. Before Shane, he would have died if he saw himself this way.

But it made him happy.

“You’re a bad influence,” Ryan said quietly, rubbing his right thumb over his left wrist.

Shane paused and looked up at him, “What?”

“I had everything so… put together, you know?” Ryan leaned against the counter, heavy, shaking his head in disbelief. “I was… I had routines, I had priorities, I had a _job_ , and then you showed up…”

“Ryan…” Shane pushed himself up, his shoulders slumped as he frowned, “What’s up?”

Ryan turned his hand around, searching. Maybe… it moved? “I just don’t understand.”

“You don’t understand what?” Shane looked crestfallen when Ryan finally met his eyes. “Ryan, it isn’t _my_ fault your tattoo is gone. Don’t push me away because of that. _You_ chose to kiss me.”

Ryan blinked. “I kissed you.”

“Yeah,” Shane mumbled. “You did. Do you… regret it, or something?”

“No, it’s …” Ryan reached his hand out, needing to feel grounded. Shane immediately took it. “It was there _before_ I kissed you.”

“It was,” Shane nodded.

“Now it’s gone,” Ryan continued, “Post-kiss.”

“Right,” Shane didn’t seem to understand.

“Just…” Ryan pulled his phone from his pocket and typed something in. Shane tried to read upside down. “Oh.”

“Oh?”

“Due dates, or death dates, are applicable to those who have not yet found their missing piece,” Ryan read quietly. “The dates change to effect decisions to lead two soulmates together.”

“…” Shane raised his eyebrows, “Soulmates.”

“Yeah, we’re, uh. Soulmates.”

Shane leaned down and enveloped Ryan in his arms, lifting him off the ground and onto the counter, hugging him as tight as he could. He buried his cold nose into Ryan’s warm neck and sighed. Ryan’s arms took a moment to wrap around Shane, but when they did, Ryan wasn’t sure if he’d ever let go.

“So, our tattoos weren’t dating,” Shane whispered. “We were.”

“I guess,” Ryan murmured back. He wrapped his legs around Shane’s waist and shook his head, “What do we do now?”

“I don’t know,” Shane laughed, “Do you want to go get lunch?”

“Sure,” Ryan said. He stopped, taking in a breath, “In a few minutes.”

“Right,” Shane said, nuzzling impossibly closer. “I like being here too.”

“We should see if… kissing would… bring the tattoos back,” Ryan said, not even trying to mask his intention. “You know. Since you paid for yours, and all.”

“That’s terrible logic,” Shane said, though he backed away and placed his hands on the outside of Ryan’s thighs to keep him still. “I must be a _really_ terrible influence.”

“Shane.”

“Right. Yeah. Let’s see if it does.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ahhhhhhhhh i love these boys. i love character development. i love needless sass. i'm gonna miss this au but you know, when i latch onto a cliche i run with it. 
> 
> stay tuned for more weirdly specific stories from yours truly, and thanks so so much for reading and commenting! it means the world


End file.
